Leave It To Fate

Anyone who says being a teacher is easy is fucking lying. You have to come up with lesson plans, use your own money to buy classroom supplies, deal with rowdy teachers and to top it off, their parents. Pay is shit but I love my job; nothing makes me happier than seeing the joy on my student's faces when they get a problem write or do well on their tests. It makes it all worth it you know?

"Mya!" My best friend Elizabeth screams the minute I pick up the phone. I shake my head in amusement.

"Hey, what's up Lizzie?" I sit back on my couch, flipping channels. Finding nothing to watch, I turn the tv off.

"We're going out," she squeals. Oh, fuck. Every time I and Lizzie go out, one of us gets plastered and the other goes home with some guy that's usually Liz. Not that I don't like a good old' night on the town, tomorrow is Monday meaning school. I teach fourth grade English-I've always had a love for words.

"Liz," I start as I pinch the bridge of my nose.

"No, we're going out. You've been in school for a month now and you haven't gone out with me or any of the gang." The gang includes me, Lizzie, Alissa, and Theresa. Lizzie is a pediatric doctor at the children's hospital in downtown Pittsburgh; Alissa does PR for a publishing company and Theresa writes freelance. We all met in college at Penn State, which feels like years ago but it honestly isn't.

"I have work tomorrow, I can't be hungover," I argue. Liz give me an annoyed sigh through the phone; I can feel her roll her eyes.

"I know that silly. I'm not saying get drunk, I'm saying live a little."

"Why are you so adamant about me going out tonight?"

"I heard through some people I know that some of the pens players will be there tonight!" Lizzie squeals into the phone. Lizzie is a big hockey fan whereas I'm indifferent, I can watch it but I've never been big into sports. I enjoy cerebral pursuits instead.

"Oh, so this is just a plan to get a wing woman to come along with you so you can potentially meet them."

"Maybe," she says in that girly, "innocent" voice. "Please, you're such a good wing woman." I release a long groan in the defeat. One night couldn't hurt and I won't drink. I suppose a night out with the potential of meeting professional athletes can't be too bad. Right? Oh, fuck it.

"Sure," I say reluctantly. " I'll go." Liz goes off in my ear, her words tumbling out excitedly.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you! I owe you, I promise it'll be fun. I'll pick you up in forty-five okay?"

"Yeah, that's fine. See you soon, bye."

"See you soon!" Liz sings into the phone before the line goes dead. Dragging myself off the couch, I climb the stairs of my townhouse to my bedroom-second door on the right. My room is mature; gray walls with oak wood floors. My bed has a canopy because as much as I hate to admit it, I'm a bit of a diva. Frames of my favorite old Hollywood actresses hang on my walls (Audrey, Bette Davis, Greta Garbo) alongside pictures of friends, family and city skylines (NYC and France). My queen sized bed is covered in a black and white duvet with dozens of pillows. Circular white rugs sit on both sides of my bed. They're fuzzy of course. A desk sits to the right of the bed under the window-this is where I grade papers and shit. To the left is my closet, bathroom, and small vanity. At the foot of the bed is a chest that holds a bunch of memories from my youth while a tv is mounted on the wall, a mirrored chest of drawers stands underneath it.

There's no way in hell I could have afforded any of this on my salary. Even working in a good school district of the North Hills, I still don't make that much money. It helps that my parents have money, like a shit ton of money. My mother, Melissa Stevens, is a beauty guru. She started her makeup company (named after herself) in the '90s and built it from the ground up. It helps that she has a degree in chemistry from UCLA. Specializing in foundations for all skin types and particularly women of color that would blend seamlessly and at the same time, nourishes the skin. It sold in drug stores first then as the brand grew and the formula became more complex and the ingredients more expensive, the brand was and still is sold mostly in department stores. My mother has the most beautiful skin and it's not only from good genes, I think that makeup also keeps her young. Her family immigrated from Jamaica when she was a kid with her twin older brother and sister (by six years) Michail and Jazmine, and lived in Florida. My grandparents own a few Caribbean restaurants and beauty supply stores around Miami. I supposed that's where my mother gets it from. Working her butt off in school as a gifted student and athlete got her scholarships to some of the best schools in the country.

My father, Miles Stevens owns vineyards that produce some of the best wine in California. He originally studied biochemistry at UCLA but after a few years of that, he ditched it and went to take care of his family vineyards. He was born in California and has lived there his whole life. The vineyards have been in his family for over twenty years. His mother's family took care of the vineyard while his father was an architect. From a young age, he knew he had to do well. His parents weren't failures. My father is the oldest of four kids; my dad then his brother James then sisters Evelyn and Tiffany. They are all three years apart. My parents met in college since they took the same classes for their respective degrees. They started dating junior year and have been together ever since.

Standing in front of my closet, I comb through my dresses. I don't want to dress up too much so I opt for a simple skin tight maroon dress where the hem stops just above my knees and has a slit in the back. With spaghetti straps and a square neckline, I think it's sexy and still low maintenance. Putting that on my bed, I look for a pair of black heeled sandals with two straps. I think that's good. I change quickly, slipping on a seamless black thong and matching bra. I must say my cleavage looks great; I'm sorta well endowed with a 36C bust and a curvy ass to compliment. I'm about 5'5" since my parents aren't short. I've always been on the curvy side but keep my body in shape by boxing.

I quickly put on my heels and sit at my vanity to apply my makeup- I go for a subtle look, selecting a mauve lipstick and soft gold eyes topped off with natural looking false lashes which make my green eyes pop. My wavy black hair looks like it's straight out of the '80s at the moment. I'm surprised I didn't get my dad's brown hair—my mother has very dominant traits it seems. Grabbing a brush, I brush my hair back into a high ponytail. I take some hair gel and a toothbrush to set my baby hairs and finish with a holding spray. I select a simple black choker necklace and place it around my slender neck; a few gold rings decorate my hands before I put on gold teardrop earrings. Satisfied, I find my black clutch and throw in some essentials (cell phone, ID, credit card and makeup) just in time for my doorbell to ring. Taking one last look at myself in the mirror in my closet, I rush down the stairs to leave. Here goes nothing...

Notes

Here it is! The back story to Champion Mistake (if you haven't read that it's okay, it was just a little story). Lots of detail on our main character here, I wanted to get that out of the way and to get into a rhythm for this. Feel free to give me feedback :D